


What's Left of God's Light (May Not be Enough)

by ScaryScarecrows



Category: A Plague Tale: Innocence (Video Game), Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, Mentions of Death, Rats, War Is Not Pretty, and being eaten alive, but like wrath of God-style rats, do not copy to another site, essentially this is a bunch of NPCs freaking out about the ratpocalypse, obviously, you need knowledge of neither fandom to read
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-29
Updated: 2020-02-29
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:53:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22956727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScaryScarecrows/pseuds/ScaryScarecrows
Summary: “We got ‘em on the run, boys!” Fucking English scum. “Keep after ‘em--what the hell?”The ground’s shaking. He’d thought it was the tower, or even just the sheer number of people. But then the earth...it. It bubbles up, a few feet away from the tower. And then it just sort of...pops, like a boil, and black gunk spews out.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 20





	What's Left of God's Light (May Not be Enough)

AN: I have been playing  _ A Plague Tale: Innocence _ and very much enjoying it. I said I shouldn’t plunk the squad in there.

I did it anyway. For, um. Expanding my writerly horizons. Or something.

~~ I totally did it for fun. ~~

* * *

The air is thick with the stench of bodies, smoke, and terrified horses. Men are screaming. The ground, already marshy, is growing wetter with spilled blood. The creaking of the towers and the sounds of the catapults are so, so loud and to make matters worse, it’s starting to rain.

They’ve been here for three days. Three hellish days of death and pain and fear. Antoine thinks they’re losing. They started out organized but both sides have since devolved into the sort of savagery he hopes never to see again. At this point, all he wants is to make it out alive.

Night is falling, but with the sky already dark it almost doesn’t matter. He’s just pulling back to try and gather new bolts when there’s a new creak, a big creak, almost directly above him.

One of the towers is...very wet. Glistening, rain or no rain. And it smells of oil-- **oil--**

“Move!” he shouts, unsure if there’s anyone that can hear him anyway. “Get out, get away from the--”

**FWOOSH!**

He scrambles backwards, trips on a body and ends up on his back in the mud.

_ God, please-- _

“We got ‘em on the run, boys!” Fucking English scum. “Keep after ‘em--what the hell?”

The ground’s shaking. He’d thought it was the tower, or even just the sheer number of people. But then the earth...it. It bubbles up, a few feet away from the tower. And then it just sort of...pops, like a boil, and black gunk spews out.

No. No, not gunk. Rats, it’s thousands of goddamn rats--THE BITE--

There’s a soldier, not twenty feet from him. He’s shadowed, making it impossible to tell which side he’s on. The swarm of rats stops, just for a second, and then, as one, they see him. And they rush him.

Antoine’s never seen anything like that. But he thinks maybe they’re scared. Bugs run at people, sometimes, or even common mice. Maybe they’re scared.

“No, no-no, no--AUGH!”

One minute, the man is standing in the mud. The next, they’re all over him they’re  _ all over him _ . And then...then he’s...he’s not there, anymore. When the swarm moves on, Antoine can just make out white bones before they sink into the muck.

There’s more rumbling, and the squeaking reaches a new volume that nearly drowns out the screams of men and horses alike. In the distance, he can see more earth-boils spewing rats. God, where is he supposed to--what can he--

“The light!” That sounds like Jason. Where is he…? “Get in the light, come on! Move!”

He scrambles to his feet and stumbles as close to the burning tower as he dares. In the distance, he can just make out a horse and cart stopped by a small torch, but that torch won’t last in this rain.

“Here!” he shouts. Come on, come on, there has to be something--there! A heap of straw, if it’s not too damp. “I’ll try to light that, be ready to move!”

“Okay!” Mark’s voice. Why is he out here? Never mind…

He’s always been a little skittish, shooting fire at anything. There’s no time to aim, hardly, and one mistake…

But this has gone beyond  _ battle _ and straight to  _ the end of all things. _

By the grace of God, the haystack lights up and the cart is moving, careening over bodies and rats alike to get to it. It stops, just for a few seconds, before going again, this time towards Antoine.

There’s three people, all told. Frank, who’s driving, Mark, who’s clutching a barely-burning lantern, and Jimmy, who looks green. The horse is terrified, eyes rolling in panic, but he’s still enough, blowing hard but not looking completely likely to bolt. 

“Easy, old man, easy,” he murmurs, more out of habit than anything. His voice shakes in his own ears and he doubts the horse is soothed in the least. “What’s happening?”

“I don’t know.” Frank sounds just as bad. “I don’t know, they came out of nowhere--”

“I saw--”

“Why are they acting like this--”

“God in Heaven--”

“Stay in the light!” Where  _ is _ he? “Stay in the light, they’re afraid of it!”

The rats rush something. Antoine doesn’t know what, he can’t see and he doesn’t want to and--

There’s a terrific  **THUD!** followed by angry squeaking and Trent’s thunderous voice going, “Get  **back** , you sorry little bastards!”

Trent’s easier to spot, especially when he rears back and brings his flail down on a section of rats just outside the reach of his flickering torch.

“Here!” he shouts. “Make a run for it before the fire goes!”

“What do we do?” Jimmy’s whispering. He’s in Mark’s personal space, but Mark either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care. “This isn’t...I’ve never seen rats act like this, what’s  _ happening? _ ”

Trent narrowly avoids skidding into the cart, Riley slung over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. Riley’s not hurt, but he is the one holding the torch.

“Did you see anyone else?”

“No. No, we heard Jason, just after the ground opened up, but we didn’t see him.”

The screaming has scaled way back. No more horses, fewer men. The storm’s picked up, though, and Antoine is suddenly struck with the fear that the burning tower...might not stay burning.

It’s dark. It’s so damn dark, except for the spots of torchlight dotted throughout the field. And the ground’s still moving, the rats swarming over the bodies. Three days’ worth of corpses, two armies of men, and they’re going through it like pigs go through corn.

He doesn’t want to die here.

He steps back, closer to the horse and the fire, and strains to see anything, anything at all besides the writhing ground.

“There!” What? What now? “I think that’s--Jason! Is that you?”

Oh. There’s a bit of light. Not a lot of light, but a bit. Enough, for the moment.

“Yeah!” The figure jabs the light at the encroaching shadow and it recoils, squeaking. “How many made it?”

“Six!”

“I’ve got another one!” But for how long? “Is there.” He stops, suddenly, and maybe the world is going to end, because Antoine’s seen this idiot stare down a sword to his throat and laugh. Frank had been furious. “Is there any way you can make a path for us?”

They can’t make it to them with a torch, not in this rain. But...there’s piles of plant matter, and a handful of stick bundles they’ve all been using for tools and torches and weapons.

“Are either of you injured?”

“No!”

Good. Okay.

“I’m going to light you a path!” he calls over. “Be ready to run!”

The first stack of plants goes up just as the other light goes out and they all cringe, bracing for the screams. But they don’t come, and a second later, there’s two figures in the firelight. Maybe they can pull this off. It’s only maybe...four, five more lights to get to them. They can do this.

Eventually, they’re close enough that Antoine can see who Jason’s got with him. It’s Martin, a kid-literally, he’s maybe fifteen-who got caught up in all the lies about glory and what-have-you. Antoine’s relieved to see him alive.

“All right,” Jason’s saying, half-shouting to be heard over the downpour, “you go first, and I’ll be right behind you. You ready?”

“Yes.”

**“Go.”**

They sprint for it, ground shrieking as they dash through, and Trent thrusts an arm out to half-lift Martin into the safety of the light. Jason skids in after him, gasping for breath and nearly bowling Antoine over before he can stop.

There’s no more screams, now. Just skittering and squeaking and...feeding noises.

“What now?”

Frank jerks his head towards the cart.

“You may as well get out of the mud,” he says. “Away from the...from the edge.”

It’s the best they’ve got. They clamber in and Frank tugs Martin against his side with a soft, “Just don’t look anymore. You don’t need to see this.”

“They’re everywhere--”

“Shh. Don’t. Just don’t.”

They sit quietly, just breathing and shaking and stealing glances at the carnage in the dark. The horse stomps the mud and Antoine leans over to give it what he hopes comes off as a reassuring pat. Horses are either paranoid idiots or obscenely understanding, and there is no in-between.

Jimmy’s the one that finally speaks, voice thick and shaky.

“Think there’s anyone else?”

Jason shrugs.

“I don’t know. I didn’t--I didn’t see anyone, but maybe...maybe...I don’t know.”

“We’re gonna die,” Martin whispers frantically. “We’re gonna die, we’re gonna die--”

“Shh.” Frank rubs his shoulders. “We’re gonna be fine, we just have to…”

“Is anyone hurt?” Antoine’s never been gladder to hear Mark’s ‘give me no horseshit or on my mother’s grave, I’ll beat you with your own severed limb’ tone. So there’s a shake to it. That’s understandable.

There’s a chorus of ‘nos’ and a head-shake from Riley. It’s something.

“You’re all sure? Nobody was bitten?”

More ‘nos’. Riley hops out to check the horse, which doesn’t terribly appreciate the poking, judging by the suddenly flat ears.

He gives them a thumbs up, though, before hefting himself back into the cart. Good. Good. Antoine’s not sure if animals can be...Bitten...but he’d rather not contend with a crazy horse or anything. 

“What do we do?”

“I don’t know.”

“We pray,” Trent says tiredly. “That’s the best idea I’ve got.”

Nobody else has a better solution, and they all join hands. On an afterthought, Antoine leans over to put his hand on the horse. It deserves to be included. Martin apparently agrees.

“You may as well lead us, then,” Jason tells Trent. “This is your idea.”

In better circumstances, that might have been met with a,  _ what, you’d rather me struck down than you? _ followed by a friendly back-and-forth. But tonight, Trent just nods, takes a deep breath, and rumbles, “Our Father in Heaven…”

Now they just have to hope the tower continues to burn until...theoretically dawn, but...maybe there won’t be a dawn. Maybe the world’s over.

God, he doesn’t want to die out here.

THE END


End file.
